The Irreplacable Books

In his article "Books and Other Fetish Objects," James Gleick describes the thrill a bibliophile or historian can get from handling an old text.  He is quite right-- It is a thrilling experience.  However, merely handling any book can be an experience in itself.  There is something that makes one feel comfortably blissful while holding a book, and despite the good qualities of digital texts, this feeling is something that they cannot replace.  Gleick wonders in his article if the ease of e-texts are "an example of 'be careful what you wish for?'"  I am inclined to have the same concern.

Recently, I was scandalized when someone said he couldn't wait for the day when libraries focused on ebooks and were fully online.  Libraries?  Entirely digitized?  No more books?!  I found the thought so horrible that it actually made me a little sick to my stomach, and I replied to my acquaintance that I hoped I never saw that day. 

I can't imagine a world without books.  I agree fully with Jorge Luis Borges that "...Paradise will be a kind of library," and by that same token I believe a world without books would be a living Hell.
  

Don't misunderstand me.  I believe that digital books certainly have their uses.  An e-reader would be exceptionally useful on a long airplane trip, for example.  Digital sources can be more easily searched, and therefore are a blessing and a boon to any student or researcher. However-- despite my working as an IT tech-- I do not agree with the common philosophy that newer is always better.  I don't think books ought to be completely replaced.  The idea of a world without them is both distasteful and frightening to me.  I believe that libraries would loose a lot of their beauty and charm in they became no more than E-Book Rental Stations-- if, indeed there was any need to have a physical building at all.

The fact is that while, as I've said, digital texts have their virtues, they also have their drawbacks-- which most people foolishly tend to over look.  Besides the fact that e-readers lack the comforting presence and stately appearance of books, they are also short-lived.  Technology, by it's very nature, moves forward quickly, and thus the e-reader one pays $300 for will be out-dated within only a few years.  A person who bought an e-reader five years ago, when nearly every MicroSoft-related gadget was compatible with Windows XP, may find that their e-reader will not work with their new Windows 7 laptop.  Beyond that, their is the fact that machines-- all machines-- wear down over time.  E-readers and computers are no different.  Even if they do not become obsolete, they will eventually crash.

Of course, I might be a little bias.  Bibliophile is a very accurate term for me, as I am admittedly addicted.  I simply can't get enough books.  I love them not only for their content- though that, of course, is a a great source of joy- but for their look, their feel and their smell.  There are few sights I find more comforting and uplifting than a book shelf- and in fact I dream of having a library in my home.  If there is any better way to spend a cold, rainy day then curled up in an easy chair by a fire with a good book and a cup of coffee, I haven't found it.  If there is any more pleasant activity for a mild spring or autumn afternoon than sitting out door reading, I have never heard of it.  Books are my constant companions, and make the most excellent of acquaintances- quiet, unassuming and amiable.
  

Employees at the local Borders, as well as at both my county and campus libraries, know me by sight.  My favorite haunts, however, are used bookstores.  I often tell friends that books are never really "used," just "pre-loved."  "Besides," I'm likely to add.  "Books are like people; It's what's on the inside that counts!"  There's something fundamentally endearing about used books, and, of course, the prince increases their appeal.
  

You see, I am a re-reader.  I can't help it.  When I find a really good story, a book that touches my soul, or just an interesting tome of knowledge, I read it again and again.  (There are some favorites, like J. R. R. Tolkien's the Lord of the Rings that I read almost annually.)  This, combined with my love for the mere presence of books, leads me to buy a great number, and to almost never discard any of them.  (I've been known to purchase as many as 50 books from a single library sale.  As I said previously, I am truly addicted.)

I read nearly everything; From histories to fantasies, from true crime and mystery to sociology and politics, I love it all.  A well written book on any subject is always a welcome addition to my collection.  I'm afraid I've become an infamous know-it-all, especially on certain favorite subjects, due to my constant reading and research.  I try not to be, but I seem to fail often enough to spawn a number of good-humored jibes.
  

True, I could find much of the same information online, and honestly it would probably be quicker and easier to locate in that format, but nothing can ever replace the gentle weight of a book in my lap, the whisper of turning pages, and the distinct, soothing smell of a bound tome.  Reading, I think, is more than an activity.  It is an experience to be enjoyed and savored; something unique that both provides tranquil solace and draws readers together.
  

A world without books?  I think not.

The Irony of Class in Pygmalion

Act Three may well be my favorite portion of Shaw’s immortal play Pygmalion.  The social statements made in this part of the play are so hilarious, so stunning, and so true that it is difficult not to enjoy the entire misadventure.  Henry Higgins, who seems to think himself perfectly superior to everyone else, creates a severe faux pas by showing up to his mother’s home unannounced when she is about to have a party.  He announces that he would like to try out his “project,” Eliza, on his mother’s distinguished guests.  Before his mother can refuse, some of the said guests appear– none other than the aristocratic trio from Act One.  Henry Higgins makes the risky mistake of opening his mouth, and is on the brink of horribly insulting his mother’s respectable acquaintances when he is saved by Eliza’s arrival.  This is, in itself, ironic because it reveals that Henry, who seems to think himself the only truly refines human being around, is actually devoid of etiquette and social graces that would have been common to all but the lowliest of his contemporaries.

To both Henry and Eliza’s credit, none of the three aristocrats recognize the flower girl they briefly interacted with before.  They are initially charmed by her ladylike behavior and language, but when she begins slipping into her old accent, and even mentioning her father’s alcoholism, both Freddy and Clara are absolutely taken with her.  They think she is making a hilarious joke, and speaking with the vogue “new speech.”  Clara even tries to imitate her, while Freddie is clearly becoming infatuated with her.  Again, the arrogant Henry is outshone by his supposedly inferior student.  This is ironic not only because the less-refined Eliza is more popular with the high-born guests than her better educated teacher, but also because the aristocrats are trying to imitate her.  This struck me as important because it still goes on today.  How many times have I heard college seniors, who are quite capable of speaking like educated people, trying to sound as if they came from a trashy trailer park or inner-city project housing?  Apparently now, as in the time of Shaw’s play, ignorance is in fashion.  Some things, I suppose, never change.

Class and Pygmilion

One of the most interesting aspects of the first act of Pygmalion is that of class, and it’s relation to characters’ names.  It is fascinating not because it is there, but because it is so pointedly obvious– arguably to the point of being satirical.

The characters in Act One represent a stereotypical cross-section of English society at that time.  There are the Aristocrats– Freddy, his mother and his sister– as well as the middle class academic Henry Higgins.  There is Colonel Pickering, whose academic and military experiences allow him to span a gap between the aristocratic and the middle classes, and then, of course, there is Eliza Dolittle, the lower class flower girl.

The importance of class in the play is illustrated by the fact that all of the characters are initially known by epithets that either directly or indirectly point to their social statuses.  The Mother and the Daughter, being upper class, are known solely by their familial positions, because those are their only places in society.  The Flower Girl, being lower class, must work for a living and is therefore known by her job title.  The Gentleman, obviously, is exactly what his name indicates, while the Note Taker, while middle class and therefore known again by his activity, is also an academic, as the act of taking notes suggests.  Only Freddy seems to be immune to the classification– a fact which proves significant as more about his character is revealed later in the play.

Even the characters’ proper names seem to have social significance.  Henry Higgins is a name for an “Everyman” if I’ve ever heard one, yet the surname Higgins means “Intelligent.”  Eliza’s surname, Dolittle, can be taken as a descriptive for the stereotypical view taken by the English of the period toward the lower class.  The poorest in English society at that time were typically viewed as lazy and idle.  Colonel Pickering’s name is especially interesting.  Firstly, the combination of a officers’ title with the name speaks of both high birth– because at the time only aristocrats became officers in the English military– and of intelligence– because of two famous Victorian astronomers, Edward and William Pickering.  Again, only Freddy’s name does not seem to bear some sort of social significance.

The Faltering of the English Language

George Orwell, in his essay “Politics and the English Language,” stated that English was in notable disrepair and that this fact both had its roots in and would be the cause of social and political problems.  He compared the downfall of language to be like a drunk, who begins his affair with heavy liquor because he feels like a failure, and as a consequence becomes a far greater failure than he was.

This essay is as relevant today as it was when it was published in 1946.  English is still, as Orwell worded it: “in a bad way.”  According to an April 2009 article in BBC News Magazine, Professor David Crystal, who has written nearly one-hundred books concerning his research in English language studies, estimated that the average English speaker knows between thirty-five-thousand and fifty-thousand words.  (This estimate includes modern additions to the dictionary, such as slang terms that have been adopted into the English language.)  These estimates are dismal because Global Language Monitor, a U.S. based linguistics company, estimates that English now officially contains about one-million words.  (Again, this includes new additions to the Oxford dictionary.)  Do the math and you will find that fifty-thousand is about fifteen percent of one-million.  That is a truly depressing number.

Unfortunately, substandard vocabularies are not the only problems that the English language faces.  George Orwell, in his afore mentioned essay, argues that many writers, even among professors and journalists, do not have a great enough command of the language to fully express themselves as they intend.  This would be hard to believe if it were not for the examples he provides, such as the one below, from a New York Times article:

On the one side we have the free personality: by definition it is not neurotic, for it has neither conflict nor dream. Its desires, such as they are, are transparent, for they are just what institutional approval keeps in the forefront of consciousness; another institutional pattern would alter their number and intensity; there is little in them that is natural, irreducible, or culturally dangerous. But on the other side, the social bond itself is nothing but the mutual reflection of these self-secure integrities. Recall the definition of love. Is not this the very picture of a small academic? Where is there a place in this hall of mirrors for either personality or fraternity?

Is the described “hall of mirrors” a metaphor for love, the “free personality” of an individual, or academe?  It is not really clear.  What is clear, however, is that the paragraph lacks clarity and vivid expression.  Orwell is quite right in suggesting that this paragraph demonstrates a inapt handle on the usage of English.

I do not agree with all Orwell says in essay, however.  He argues against the use of scientific, archaic, and foreign words in English, while I embrace them fully.  I feel that Orwell’s apparent disdain for them is foolish, given the fact that he is arguing for salvation of the English language.  How can anyone argue that our language is being destroyed, and then suggest shortly afterward that we should limit our vocabularies?  The variegated plethora of words available in English is a large part of what makes it beautiful.  Should we return to using only Anglo-Saxon based words?  That would undo hundreds of years of linguistic development—an absurd notion.

I also disagree with Orwell’s suggestion that we should endeavor to save the English language by mocking those who use it incorrectly—although I think this comment was more tongue-in-cheek than serious proposal.  None the less, it seems to have some undertone of sincerity to it, so I must ask: what about those people whose command of English is poor because it is their second language?  What about those who do not use the language well because they have a mental or learning disability, or because they were not lucky enough to be read to as a child or sent to a decent school?  Should we poke fun at them, and thus give them a greater dislike for the very language we intend to save?  I don’t believe so.  No, I think rather the best thing we can do is to cultivate a love for English among other English speakers by leading through example, by introducing them to the joys of reading, and by discussing the very things mentioned in this blog whenever the opportunity presents itself.  Most of all, we must improve our own vocabularies, phraseology, and reading habits.  Only by embracing and displaying a love for the English language ourselves can we begin to pull it back for the edge of the abyss.

SOURCES:

Orwell, George.  "Politics and the English Language."  http://www.mtholyoke.edu/acad/intrel/orwell46.htm 

Gall, Carolyn.  "The Words in the Mental Cupboard."  BBC News Magazine.  http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/magazine/8013859.stm

Class and Names in Pygmalion Act One

One of the most interesting aspects of the first act of Pygmalion is that of class, and it’s relation to characters’ names.  It is fascinating not because it is there, but because it is so pointedly obvious– arguably to the point of being satirical.

The characters in Act One represent a stereotypical cross-section of English society at that time.  There are the Aristocrats– Freddy, his mother and his sister– as well as the middle class academic Henry Higgins.  There is Colonel Pickering, whose academic and military experiences allow him to span a gap between the aristocratic and the middle classes, and then, of course, there is Eliza Dolittle, the lower class flower girl.

The importance of class in the play is illustrated by the fact that all of the characters are initially known by epithets that either directly or indirectly point to their social statuses.  The Mother and the Daughter, being upper class, are known solely by their familial positions, because those are their only places in society.  The Flower Girl, being lower class, must work for a living and is therefore known by her job title.  The Gentleman, obviously, is exactly what his name indicates, while the Note Taker, while middle class and therefore known again by his activity, is also an academic, as the act of taking notes suggests.  Only Freddy seems to be immune to the classification– a fact which proves significant as more about his character is revealed later in the play.

Even the characters’ proper names seem to have social significance.  Henry Higgins is a name for an “Everyman” if I’ve ever heard one, yet the surname Higgins means “Intelligent.”  Eliza’s surname, Dolittle, can be taken as a descriptive for the stereotypical view taken by the English of the period toward the lower class.  The poorest in English society at that time were typically viewed as lazy and idle.  Colonel Pickering’s name is especially interesting.  Firstly, the combination of a officers’ title with the name speaks of both high birth– because at the time only aristocrats became officers in the English military– and of intelligence– because of two famous Victorian astronomers, Edward and William Pickering.  Again, only Freddy’s name does not seem to bear some sort of social significance.

Education and Bronte

Perhaps one of the most interesting cultural aspects of Wuthering Heights is it’s connection to education.  Many of the characters’ lives are bound up with education, or the lack thereof, and it seems to have direct collation to their personalities.  Without exception, the educated are fairly decent people– or as decent as one can find among such low mimetic characters– while the uneducated are rough and ill-tempered.

Edgar Linton, a properly well-educated gentleman, may be pampered and weak, but he is jovial and kind.  The Earnshaw’s maid, Nelly Dean, has read nearly every book in the grand library at Thrushcross Grange, and is therefore not only surprising well-spoken, but also well-mannered and good-natured.  Heathcliff, who is originally surly, seems to improve a little during his period of education.  When education and reading are stolen from him by his adopted brother, Hindley, he becomes more volatile and ill-tempered than ever.  Similarly, Harenton, Hindley’s son, is denied all education, and is therefore one of the most gruff and dislikable characters in the entire novel.  When he is taught to read by Cathy, his demeanor is remarkably improved.

Perhaps the only character in whom a direct collation between education and relative goodness is not readily apparent is Cathy herself.  She enjoys reading, and is well-taught, but she still mocks poor Harenton.  However, one deeper examination, even this seems to have some connection to education because the books she loves to read are taken away from her.  This deprivation of favored reading material seems to be the catalyst for her major faults, for when the books are inadvertently returned to her by Harenton, whom she finds trying to read them, her treatment of him begins to slowly improve.

Emily Brontë clearly meant to say something about education, and especially about books, that was an important statement during a time when only wealthy and middle-class men were permitted to have any formal education to speak of.  However, her statement was more important than she realized, for though the reasons have changed, it is still very valid today.

Nature and Culture in Wuthering Heights

One of the most obvious devices used in the novel Wuthering Heights is that of the coellation between the weather on the moor and the residents of the manor that shares the book’s name.  Specifically, the Earnshaw family seems to have an amazing effect on the elements, as the weather seems to match their personas.  (For example, the gloomy, stormy weather when the protagonist, Lockwood, meets Heathcliff, and the pleasant weather when he later finds love-struck Catherine and Harenton reading together.)

These atmospheric metaphors, as well as other ecospheric ones, were not chosen by coincidence, for if one looks more closely, one can see that one of the themes of Wuthering Heights is Nature versus Culture.  Consider the Earnshaw’s, with whom the famously unpredictable moorland weather always seems to agree; they are a family of passionate and often impulsive people.  Hendly savages Heathcliff’s humanity, and Heathcliff revenges himself cruelly on Harenton, Hendly’s son.  In both cases, the spite and hatred of the men seems to be boundless and untamed.  They’re natures have not been curbed by culture– until, perhaps, the end when Heathcliff relents somewhat.  Similarly, in the latter part of the book when Harenton is socialized by Catherine, the unruly gardens around Wuthering Heights manor are symbolically tamed.  In this way, the gardens act as yet another metaphor for nature, which is later moderated by culture.

The Linton family, by contrast, is almost too cultured.  Edgar, for example, is wealthy, well-educated, kindly, and rather spoiled.  He is very nearly the epitome of an early nineteenth-century gentleman, but he is too delicate and too docile for his own good.  When Heathcliff sweeps back into his life like a force of nature, he is helpless to protect himself and his family.  Like any civilized man faced with a typhoon, he is easily overcome. 

Lockwood, though not a Linton, is another example of this sort of highly-cultured character.  He is financially secure, and very gentlemanly.  He is so preoccupied with propriety that he invites himself back to his landlord’s house, even after he has been given clear indications that he is unwelcomed, because he wants company and, at that time, a gentleman who owned a manor like Wuthering Heights was always supposed to receive a visiting gentleman graciously.  The idea that anyone might do differently never occurs to Lockwood, even when he is faced with obvious evidence to the contrary.  Likewise, he is too cultured to have any practicality.  When he returns to visit Wuthering Heights manor, he becomes completely lost on the moor despite the fact that he lived in the area for a year.  Near the beginning of the book, during his second visit to Heathcliff, he is so frightened and upset by being chased my dogs that he gives himself a nosebleed.  It appears as if overexposure to culture makes characters like Edgar and Lockwood weak.

Emily Brontë almost seems to be arguing for moderation in her novel Wuthering Heights.  She seems to point out problems with both the wild and egocentric ways that are natural to human kind, and the overly-protected, impractical ways of the elite class of her Victorian world.  It is one of the interesting and thought-provoking themes that set Wuthering Heights apart from many other Gothic novels of its time.